Dead Man's Switch: Deathpool
by SinghSong
Summary: Some Celestial Being or another decides to spice things up by switching the mind of Slade Wilson with that his parallel universe counterpart, Wade Wilson. How will the two fare in each other bodies, in each other's positions? And with them on the loose, are both of their respective worlds and all of the heroes in them toast? Marvel AU's end.
1. Ready or Not

Slade Wilson blinked. An almost unrecognizable version of himself, with both eyes intact, but with no facial hair whatsoever, and with a skin condition which made it look like it had been the unfortunate recipient of one of the Joker's acid baths, winked back at him, deliberately keeping its right eye shut to mimic his own missing eye. Reacting in an instant, lightning quick and barely flustered, Slade reached for his twin katanas- or rather, tried to. Unfortunately though, it seemed that he'd been rendered utterly incapable of moving his limbs somehow...

"Yo. Hey there, my mild-mannered alternate super-ego. Whassup...?"

He couldn't turn his head either- but he could still move his eye, his face, his jaw. And his tongue, blatantly enough- his defaced, mangled clone appeared to be subject to exactly the same invisible, intangible binds which he'd been placed under, and its mouth had been moving this whole time, its tongue flapping away incessantly to the extent that the only apparent explanation was that it seemed to suffer from some form of logorrhea. Symptomatic of Tourette's, OCD, ADHD, or all of the above. Or maybe it was just Bizarro-style crazy, as so many evil scientists' cloning attempts tended to be...

"So, what's with that suit of yours? Orange and Black, huh? Sorry, totally not feeling it. Especially not with all those metal armor plates everywhere. I mean, come on- _No one_ wants to be that lame-o Ghost Rider, know what I'm saying? And you're just a few spikes, some hell-fire flaming metal chains and a Harley Davidson away from being reduced to _that_ undead, flaming skeletal sad-sack, getting stuck with that cliched role of being the servant of Satan for all eternity. Dude. Don't ever let that happen to you..."

Or, alternately, it was just the single-most capable, insightful and adept combatant in personal, psychological warfare that he'd ever faced. Which did make sense, given that it seemed to be a clone of himself- clad in a glaringly blood-red suit which was otherwise a blatant rip-off of his own, equipped with the same dual katana sword holsters on its back and pistol holsters on its utility belt. He'd been able to tell in an instant that he wasn't wearing his mask any more, and it wasn't wearing a mask either. It appeared that H.I.V.E. had really outdone themselves this time...

Gritting his teeth, collecting his thoughts, Slade blocked it out, scanning the background- as much of it as he could anyway. Which wasn't much, given his already inherently limited field of vision, combined with the fact that this defaced master-of-irritation clone of himself had been planted right up in his face, with its nose only four inches or so away from his own. But he could see enough to affirm that he wasn't back in Trigon's sulfurous domain of hellfire and brimstone, even if this did seem uncannily similar to the manner in which he'd been summoned there. This setting seemed markedly more- astral. Black, with several lights dotted all over the place which appeared to be stars, based on their spectral patterns and their minuscule fluctations, consistent with surface flares and sunspots. Slade also observed that both he and his clone weren't actually standing upon anything, but seemed to be levitated somehow, held aloft in the middle of a vast, bottomless void.

"Interesting. What is this? What's going on?"

His clone shrugged- drawing a raised eyebrow from Slade, and inducing another surge of impotent rage when he realised that somehow, inexplicably, he was incapable of moving his shoulders and acheiving the same feat. "Beats me. But hey, it sure beats loafing around on the couch for three days straight, blowing my brains in with boredom waiting for the next contract to come rolling in. These lot need to get a move on though- the build of the dramatic tension's kind of plateaued off, and it'll tail off and take a nose-dive if they keep leaving us hanging here much longer, trying to stoke it up further. Another ten seconds, and we'll be so far into overhype territory that there'll be literally no expose big enough to live up to it..."

 **Greetings, Mortals. Misters Slade and Wade Wilson, Deathstroke and Deadpool, parallel counterparts from the Universes Animate DC and Marvel respectively.**

"Well, it's about time. Deesee, huh? Weird. Kinda sounds a bit like Disney. Bet you didn't even get to use your super-tag over there, 'cause it wasn't kid-friendly enough..."

Ignoring his clone's- counterpart's? Wade's? Inane rambling, Slade smoothed his expression, adopting the deadpan face and tone of voice which he preferred to use for situations such as these. "Well, you appear to have me at a disadvantage. For the time being, at least. Enjoy it while you can."

"...Ooh, loving the Hannibal Lecter vibe. _Soon, I will have you begging for mercy, and there is, nothing, you can do, to stop it_. Now you're getting it! _That's_ the kind of badass I'm talking about!"

 **You two have been chosen, ahead of an infinite number of other parallel selves, and brought together here, summoned from across the infinite reaches of time, space and dimensions, to be granted a most magnificent opportunity.**

"Meh. If I had a dime for every time I heard that, I'd be richer than Scrooge McDuck..."

"I'm ashamed to say that I actually find myself agreeing with- my other self. I'm not particularly impressed."

 **You are both failures. Incessant failures, always thwarted in your ultimate aspirations by those who would foil and oppose you.**

Wade frowned for a moment, creasing up his already damaged and contorted face, before offering another flippant, if-you-say-so shrug. Slade's eye and nostrils flared, burning with cold rage at having his grand schemes and achievements dismissed in such a manner.

 **No longer. You will both be granted a fresh start- you will switch places with one another, in your respective realities.**

Wade's eyes lit up with glee. "Oh, YES! Crossover special! This gonna be a RIOT! Fetch me my checkbook- I'm booking a one-way ticket to manifest destiny, right now, and ain't no-one gonna stop me...!"

"Oh yes someone is." Slade spat, disgusted with Wade's naive enthusiasm. "I make it my business to know who I'm dealing with, and why. Who are you, and what do you want in return? And is this a one-way deal?"

 **I am, what I am. What I want, is to simply bear witness to the results, and to see how much better the two of you will fare against one anothers' foes than you did against your own. If you both meet with failure, then you will be returned to your original places; if you both find success, the switch will become permanent, and you will be allowed to remain in each others' places indefinitely.**

"Nothing personal, but I trust no-one, and believe in nothing. Especially not unidentified, supposedly divine entities offering me the keys to rule a new world on a silver platter, with no terms, catches or conditions. Why should I believe a word of what you're saying, or that you'll hold to your end of the bargain?"

 **I have no need to lie. This is not a bargain- one such as myself, omniscient and omnipresent, does not make deals. I do not ask- I dictate, and I command. And I command that you provide an answer, knowing as I already do what your answer will be. Of all of your parallel selves, you are the most dictatorial Master of Order- unlike your polar opposite, the most anarchic Lord of Chaos.**

Slade narrowed his eyes, giving his parallel counterpart the once-over yet again, but in a new light. Wade's enthusiasm had abruptly vanished with trace, to be almost instantly replaced by boredom; even as he watched, the man stuck out his tongue, and started using it to poke up his nostrils, as if experimenting to see how far up it could go.

 **Do you doubt your own capability to impose your will, Deathstroke? Or will you be confident enough to seize the opportunity, and make it your own?**

"Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I don't really have a choice. Very well- I accept your offer."

 **And you, Deadpool? Are you inclined to break the balance, and to be the harbinger of chaos and disorder?**

"Eh? Oh yeah, sure, whatever. I'm game."

 **Then let the switch commence!**

In an imperceptible instant, Slade suddenly found himself staring, not at his polar opposite, but at his own face, devoid of its eyepatch. Yanking his new tongue back down, out of the wet nostril into which it had been deeply wedged, he blinked, trying to accustom himself to having perfect 50-50 binocular vision once more. And to accustom himself to the constant sensation of pain, racking his entire body- but with it, and the accompanying realization that his new body possessed a healing factor which was markedly superior to that possessed by his old body, a faint smirk asserted itself on his face.

"Soo..."

 ** _Sigh_ \- Yes, and let the two of you be sent to each other's world forthwith. Fare well...**

"Oh, I most certainly shall..." Looks be damned- he never removed his mask anyway. _And he would accomplish truly great things in this body, of that he had no doubt_...

"You're the best, Eternity. Tell Kismet I said hi, 'kay? Now, let's get to having some fun-time..."


	2. On Hiatus

Sadly, this story has been been placed on indefinite hiatus due to lack of interest. Thank you to all of those who were willing to give it a read, and farewell.


End file.
